


Valentine's Day

by ColorfulStabwound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Albius - Freeform, Blood As Lube, Blood can be used as lube right?, Bloodlust, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Brooklyn Spice, Couch Sex, Cristian Dior can suck my cock, Dancing, Death, Fandom Hopping, February Fourteenth, Fluff, Friendship, Gellert is a naughty naughty boy, German Sex Gods, Godric's Hollow, Gratuitous coffee table dancing, Grindeldore, Hotel Cortez, Love, M/M, Major Lazer, Malec, Malfoy Manor, Masters of Death, Murder, Okay wrong fic, Pensieves, Post COHF, Rough Sex, Secrets, Sex, Sexy Times, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sky-clad, Texts From Last Night, The Deathly Hallows, The fountain!, Valentine's Day, Vernal Equinox, american horror story: hotel - freeform, grave robbing, id rather go ginger than female, jimlock, marriage proposals, multifandom - Freeform, put that on a coffee mug!, she wants revenge, tmi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-19 10:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5964613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One crazy author, one hallmark holiday, multiple fandoms and countless OTPs. </p><p>Sounds like a party, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scorpius/Albus

**Author's Note:**

> So, this idea happened like most of the crazy fucking ideas I have, I tossed it out randomly in conversation and kept thinking about it til I made it happen. I had been wanting to write something fluffy and sweet for a pair of boys that I've been especially cruel to and then I decided, why not share the love with everyone?
> 
> These stories all loosely follow the countless timelines I have constructed with Unkissed, in some form or another. Grab a helmet and strap yourselves in, this should be quite a ride.
> 
> As always, endless worship and adoration to my bestie and muse in ALL things, Unkissed.

**February 14 th, 8am; Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire**

 

 

Scorpius Malfoy has always been an obscenely early riser. He isn’t sure if it is something that he enjoys so much as it is like a curse that is in his blood, but he’s long since given up trying to change it. Most days (when he wasn’t tied to a career obligation or on the road with Albus), he will slip out of bed as quietly as he can and occupy himself until his companion saw fit to roll out of bed.

  
Today is not one of those days.

 

Currently, Scorpius is standing right in the middle of the bed he shares with Albus, a pair of pastel pink headphones shoved into his ears, singing as loudly (and coincidently, as obnoxiously) as he possibly can.

 

_“…I asked my girlfriend if she’d seen you ‘round before, she mumbled something while we got down on the floor, baby.”_

 

Scorpius knows that it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than some off-key singing to wake the dead (read as: Albus), but it sure doesn’t stop him from trying. Most days he is content with letting Albus sleep in, but again, today is not that day.

 

_“We might’ve fucked, not really sure, don’t quite recall, but something tells me that I’ve seen him, yeah…”_

Scorpius’ voice fills up the massive space clear up to the high vaulted ceilings and bounces off the walls, which does nothing to stir the sleeping lump of bed covers formerly known as Albus Severus. Of course, he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as throwing a couple of Gaga lyrics out there, but he had faith. Besides, he hadn’t even belted out the chorus yet.

 

_“That boy is a monster, m-m-m-monster,”_ Scorpius leads into said chorus in a charming scream-singing tone while bouncing on the bed with enough force to shake the lamp on the side table.

_“That boy is a monster, m-m-m-monster,”_ He repeats, jumping in a precariously dangerous circle of twisted blankets and sleepy limbs.

 

_That boy is a monster, er-ER-ER-ER!!”_ He is still singing when he topples right over onto Albus in what he assumes is a terribly ungraceful move, headphones and muggle iPod flying in opposite directions.

 

The pile of blankets shifts and groans and Scorpius grins wickedly because he thinks his plan has worked, and with very little effort. He scrambles around on top of Albus trying to sit up, which pulls another groan of protest out from beneath the blankets and makes him giggle deviously. It takes him mere moments to situate himself and straddle the warm body hiding under the layers that separated them. He plasters on his sweetest, most innocent smile and reaches for the top of the blanket and pulls it back, revealing the severely bed-mussed head of Albus Severus.

 

Albus’ eyes are red and squinty because he hasn’t had nearly enough sleep, but he’s been lying down next to Scorpius long enough to get used to it. Life with Scorpius Malfoy is like a never-ending journey into the unknown and although Albus loves his sleep, he loves Scorpius much, much more. The blond in question hovers just out of reach overhead, grinning mischievously and nearly shaking with that disturbing alertness that only _morning people_ understand. He’s been waking up to this smiling face since he was eleven years old, and even now, with years separating the gap from the first time they met, Albus still feels like the luckiest person on the planet. Scorpius is his muse and his love and his life, and it was the unexpected moments just like this that made his heart swell and his head spin.

 

The last vestiges of sleep are already dissipating when Albus licks his lips and gazes up at Scorpius, who is still perched above him and looking like he’s ready to pounce.   _“Girl, you look good enough to eat.”_ His voice is dry and scratchy but it still makes Scorpius’ smile widen ridiculously large. Another _perk_ (and Albus uses that term **very** loosely) of loving someone like Scorpius is that you become _extremely_ acquainted with all the sorts of music you normally wouldn’t give a second thought. Albus isn’t sure that retaining words to various pop songs and having the ability to use them at will is a good thing or not, but for now at least, he’s playing along.

 

Albus reaches for him, hands curling around his waist and pulling him down closer. Scorpius leans closer, mouth ghosting his glistening lips. _“Boy, now get your paws right off of me.”_ He murmurs, a pink flush creeping slowly over the bridge of his nose and staining his pale cheeks.

  
The song is quickly forgotten along with Albus’ need for sleep as their lips meet, not in a desperate clash so much as a subtle longing. He fingers the hem of the white t-shirt that Scorpius wore, inching it up just enough to caress a strip of exposed flesh with a fingertip.

 

Scorpius sighs softly against Albus’ open mouth, the warmth of the touch jump-starting his pulse. His fingers card through tangled strands of raven hair and his teeth scrape against Albus’ bottom lip because he cannot help himself. From the very first time they had met, Scorpius had known that he loved Albus. Oh, it wasn’t the same kind of love that he feels now, but it was still there because it is impossible _not_ to love someone like Albus. He is the other half of Scorpius’ soul, the second side of the same coin and a perfectly fitted puzzle piece. Most days, Scorpius still doesn’t believe that this is his life, and he isn’t exactly sure what he ever did to deserve such a thing, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

Albus’ fingers inch the worn t-shirt up higher, exposing Scorpius’ spine and causing him to shiver lightly. Their mouths part just long enough for Albus to tug the shirt over Scorpius’ head and toss it aside, where it is quickly forgotten. Scorpius’ eyes shutter as they kiss because he can still taste chocolate on Albus’ tongue from the night before. His chest hitches painfully because oxygen is _still_ something that he needs and when their lips come apart, he is left panting raggedly into the soft curve of Albus’ shoulder. Scorpius smoothes his palms over the bare skin trapped beneath him, marking a trail of wet kisses along Albus’ collarbone.  

 

Albus arches into the attention with his entire body, a soft groan of approval filtering past parted lips. He thinks that he wouldn’t mind having his sleep patterns disrupted every day if it was _just_ like this, with Scorpius’ mouth slowly working him up _just_ like that.

 

Scorpius takes his time because he knows it drives Albus insane, working his way across the taut skin laid out before him. He worships Albus like the finest work of art, delineating every curve, every protruding swell of muscle, with tongue and with teeth.

  
For his part, Albus can do very little but submit to the sweet torture of Scorpius’ assault. His fingers twist in fine strands of white-blond hair and his gaze shifts somewhere between squeezed shut in bliss and forced open with rapt fascination. Like Scorpius, Albus isn’t sure what he’s ever done to be worthy of a life like this one, but he doesn’t question it. Especially when Scorpius’ tongue drags over his sternum in a singular, wet stripe.

 

Albus’ skin tastes salty against his tongue, which really only serves to drive him harder and faster because he can’t get enough. He follows the delicate lines of Albus’ abdomen with his mouth, leaving no skin unaffected in his plight and when he pauses to dip the tip of his tongue in the shallow well of Albus’ navel, it pulls the sweetest sigh of approval out of him that is like music to Scorpius’ ears.

 

Albus bites the corner of his bottom lip when fingertips curl into the waistband of his shorts, a faint whimper escaping him as he lifts his arse obediently and is quickly divested of the only article of clothing he wore. He hazards a glance down at Scorpius, who smirks darkly up at him from between parted thighs. Scorpius makes a show out of teasing Albus, a soft giggle escaping him as his fingertips trace over the swell of exposed flesh between them. Albus wants to grunt and tell Scorpius to stop fucking around with him but he bites his tongue and wriggles beneath the teasing touch instead because he knows that is exactly what the devilish blond is expecting.

 

Scorpius’ fingers curl around Albus and take him firmly in hand, “shhh, baby,” he purrs against the head of the cock in his grasp, tongue darting out in teasing flicks. Albus drops his head back against the pillows and squeezes his eyes shut so he can concentrate on the contact and a forced sigh escapes through grit teeth like a steady hiss. Scorpius has always known _exactly_ what he does to Albus and he is holding nothing back as he closes his mouth over him and takes him into his mouth in one long, wet slide.

 

Oxygen lodges itself in Albus’ chest mid-breath and he feels lightheaded. He can’t help the way his hips lift off of the mattress and force his cock clear to the back of Scorpius’ throat and he does not apologize for his impatient actions because he knows that Scorpius fucking loves it. Scorpius grunts in protest that he doesn’t really mean, which is evidenced in the way his lashes flutter and his tongue flattens against the hard obstruction filling his mouth. Albus lets out a throaty groan and fists blond hair with reckless abandon, gently but firmly _assisting_.

 

It takes surprisingly little time for Scorpius to reduce him to a boneless puddle of needy whimpers. “Fuck, Scor…” Albus curses and uses what little leverage he has to fuck Scorpius’ mouth with more insistence, now desperate for more friction. It has always been like this between them, since the very first time their relationship had transcended intimacy. There were never any boundaries or regrets, only complete trust and a bond that could not be broken.

 

Scorpius curls his fingers firmly around swell of Albus’ arse as it lifts off the mattress and hold him there, forcing the head of his cock hard and firm against the back of his throat and ignores the warning signals his gag reflex is sending to his brain with a practiced patience of someone who has sucked an obscene amount of dick; an acquired talent that is appreciated from all parties currently concerned.

 

  
Albus groans deeply and squeezes his eyes shut against the forced contact, pulse threatening to jump right out of his veins. “Fuck,” he curses and bites down on his bottom lip enough to draw blood as his orgasm rips through him and blacks out his vision completely. By the time he opens his eyes again he feels like he has melted into the mattress and he doubts he could move if he really wanted to. His gaze falls to the blond still knelt between his thighs, managing little more than a shaky laugh and a lopsided smile. Scorpius beams up at him proudly, skin flushed a pretty color of pinkish-red that makes Albus’ insides itch. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.” The words are a whisper that sounds more like a feline purr as Scorpius crawls up Albus’ spent form and nestles atop him. Albus thinks he might marvel at how flawlessly their bodies fit together if he were slightly more coherent, but for now he settles for a soft kiss, imparted by the swollen and soiled lips of an angel.

 

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Albus murmurs into the lazy kiss, trying _not_ to concentrate on just how much the brackish taste of his own essence on the inside of Scorpius’ cheeks renews his pulse.

 

It is not very much later when Scorpius drags Albus into the bath, which he fills to the brim with an obnoxiously floral mixture of salts and soaps that makes Albus sneeze. Albus leans his back against the side of the massive claw-foot bathtub and Scorpius leans against his front, content for the moment with the soothing warmth enveloping him. “Everyone should have a Valentine’s Day as good as mine,” Albus wraps his arms around Scorpius and murmurs into the soft rivulets of wet blond hair, a faint smile curling his mouth at its corners.

 

Scorpius smiles and giggles softly while simultaneously attempting to lodge a wrinkly big toe in the water spout opposite. Scorpius arches a solitary brow, “everyone?” He asks, nestling back against Albus’ front. “Well, maybe not Jamie.” He replies with a grin and when Scorpius twists in the tub just enough to glance over his shoulder, they both dissolve into giggles fit for children.


	2. Teddy/James

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teddy Asks James something he's asked countless times before.
> 
> (No really, he has. We've written it about six thousand times between us)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you can probably guess, the next chapter starts with a mention at the end of the one before. Spoiler alert!

**February 14 th, 3pm; Hogsmeade, Scotland **

 

It’s been twenty-three hours since James has slept. Three hours ago he was skirting the skies with a broom lodged between his legs, single handedly (or so he likes to think) racking up another win for Puddlemere U. Six hours ago he was tossing his clothes into a duffle bag and thirty seconds ago he stepped through the floo into the sitting room of the house he shared with Teddy.  

  
Teddy has a harder time than most, with emotions. He knows that he tends to overthink every little thing, and he also knows that he can be terribly frustrating to deal with. Teddy cannot help it that he is Ravenclaw by nature. He cannot help the basic desire that runs in his veins to use his brain more effectively than his heart. The day that Teddy learned to balance the two was the day that changed everything, and although sometimes it’s still a struggle to have _just_ enough heart and _just_ enough head, he tries his very best. But Teddy has a secret weapon. He’s got a wild animal in his corner, whispering in his ear and inspiring him to be more impulsive.

  
A lion, if we’re being honest.

 

James drops his duffle bag on the floor in front of the fireplace and strips off his jacket, which quickly joins the bag right in the middle of the floor. He casts a quick glance around and his brows rise up because he is mildly shocked not to find Teddy hovering within reach; waiting. James remains silent as he sets off in search, curious as to what could possibly be more important than welcoming him back home after an extended leave. He doesn’t find Teddy in the kitchen nor does he find him in the bedroom, which leaves only the bathroom. James’ brows knit together as he pauses outside the closed door, leaning an ear against it and straining to hear anything resembling noise filtering from the other side. When James hears nothing, he frowns and lifts a hand up to knock gently against the door. “Teddy?” He says with his hand still resting on the closed door. James is met with a silence that concerns him and he doesn’t think twice about reaching for the doorknob and opening the door. “You in here?” He asks as he steps inside the empty room, brows furrowed together in confusion.

 

James retraces his steps back to the sitting room and stands there, hands on his hips, utterly stumped. He checks his muggle mobile to verify that he didn’t mix up the days and scratches absently at the back of his head. This wasn’t like Teddy at all, and that simple fact is the one that makes James more nervous than he cares to admit. James has grown up studying Teddy Lupin to a fault. Even when the attention was unwanted and unwarranted James could not be deterred, and now, years later, all his stubborn determination had finally paid off.

 

It was right at this moment when James saw the small white envelope sitting on the mantle. He crossed the room back to the fireplace, stepping over his duffle bag and coat on the way. The envelope was propped up between two picture frames. The one on the right was a picture of Teddy’s parents and on the left, a picture of Teddy and James at his first professional Quidditch match. In the picture James was sweat-soaked and his cheeks were smudged with dirt. James watched as the picture version of himself flung an arm around picture Teddy’s shoulder and pulled him close, causing picture Teddy to smile bashfully. At the time, their relationship, or lack thereof, was a well-kept secret between the two of them, mostly at the behest of Teddy himself. James smiled and reached for the envelope addressed to him in Teddy’s tidy print, the picture versions of Teddy and him resetting and starting over.

 

_J,_

_I’m down by the water, please come and find me._

_Love,_

_T_

James snorts softly to himself, inwardly pleased to find that his minor worry was for nothing. He folds up the note and shoves it in his back pocket on the way to the back door, letting himself out and heading across the grass towards the shallow river that ran behind the house.

 

It was two years after graduation when Teddy and James decided to build this house. Teddy was several years into a permanent teaching position at Hogwarts and James was well on his way to becoming a household name in the Quidditch world. It had been Teddy’s idea to erect a home where the remnants of the Shrieking Shack had stood hollow for so many years and James thought it was a fitting tribute to the men in both of their lives that had been taken too soon. Of course, schedules permitting, the pair is rarely in the same place at the same time, but James could not deny that it was nice to have someplace to call home and he hoped that Teddy would always feel the same.

 

James rounds the house and the water comes into view along with Teddy, who was seated nearly at the waters edge. He makes quick work of trudging across the grass and when he drops down beside Teddy, he glances up and smiles. “There you are,” he says, holding up a hand and squinting to shield the sun shining brightly overhead.

 

“Here I am,” James shrugged a shoulder and nudged Teddy, glancing around and trying to figure out why they were out here.

 

Teddy’s eyes were the color of lavender pastilles and they moved over James with a subtle desperation that was not hard to notice. “Missed me?” He asks, quirking an amused brow as he slides a hand through the bend in Teddy’s arm and links their fingers together.  

 

Teddy smiles at Jamie’s question—Not because he is amused, but because he can easily see how hard James work to appear indifferent. It wasn’t always this way, and there was a time when Teddy was as clueless as the rest of the world on how to decipher James Potter, but that had all changed long ago. Teddy likes to think he is special in this regard and that he is the only one who knows Jamie good enough to see these things, and he would not be wrong. “Desperately,” Teddy says, bringing their linked fingers to his lips.

 

James shrugs a casual shoulder and flashes a knowing grin. “I’m not surprised. I’m pretty missable.” He says matter-of-factly, completely serious.

 

“Yes, you are.” Teddy replies fondly as he pulls Jamie close enough to shut him up with a soft kiss.   When they part James has that glassy look in his eyes that makes Teddy reconsider his choice of location. James ignores the serious look in Teddy’s eyes because he’s missed Teddy too. It takes very little effort on his part to distract Teddy with a string of kisses and before he can regain control of the situation James has climbed into his lap and has his arms wound tightly around his neck.

 

“Jamie, listen,” Teddy manages between steadily intensifying kisses, fingers curling into James’ shoulders in a vain attempt to hold him still.

 

James snorts impatiently and bites down on Teddy’s bottom lip, which pulls a small yelp out of him. “Shut up, Teddy.” He says, kissing the now abused lip gently.

 

Teddy heaves an exasperated sigh, “James, I’m serious. I have something to say.” James stills and their eyes meet and although James does not verbally acknowledge that he has understood, Teddy knows that he does.

  
James stills in Teddy’s lap and peers down intently at him, trying his very best to behave himself for however long it was that Teddy felt the need to torture him. He spotted the anxiety on Teddy’s face the moment he came into view and although he may have realized that he should at least _try_ and retain a modicum of self-control, he couldn’t find any reason to care.

 

Once Teddy has Jamie’s attention his voice fails him because this really _is_ a serious moment. He smiles awkwardly and blushes so hard it bleeds into his hair, mentally scrambling to collect his thoughts. He has been thinking about this moment for so long that it is hard to believe that it is really happening and he struggles to find the proper words to explain what he is feeling. A cold sweat breaks out over his skin and his bottom lip quivers slightly and when he glances up into Jamie’s stormy gaze, he is instantly reminded of why they are here.

 

Of course James chooses the exact moment Teddy has finally worked up the nerve to say what he needs to, to say something obnoxious and Teddy can’t even be mad because that is one of the many reasons that he loves James Potter. “Not getting any younger here, Teddy, especially you.”

 

 

 

He knows that James is just as desperate to reacquaint as he is, and he hopes that there will be plenty of _that_ soon enough. “You know I love you, don’t you?” Teddy doesn’t need the validation, not really. James has made it painfully clear for _years_ that he knew Teddy loved him, even when Teddy didn’t know it himself.  

 

“Are you kidding me right now?” James says, rolling his eyes straight up to the sky.

 

Teddy nods and laughs nervously; he knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “Yes, well I do, and I am trying to make a declaration so if you could just be patient for a minute and…” Teddy never has the opportunity to finish that sentence because James cuts right in. “Patient? Do you even know me?” James shifts subtlety in Teddy’s lap while he speaks frankly and it anything but innocuous and definitely distracting. Teddy’s eyes squeeze shut and he bites the corner of his bottom lip, which seems to amuse James greatly. “I mean, I know you’re _old_ , but memory loss? Tsk. Teddy, what am I going to do with you? Maybe you just _think_ you love me because you can’t really remember the details anymore.”

 

Teddy knows Jamie is only teasing, but his flippant tone is frustrating. His eyes fly open and he grabs up Jamie’s wrists just to get him to shut up, which of course, doesn’t really work out well for him.

 

“Should I be considering trading you in for a newer model already? Hmm, there was this fit reporter bloke trying to chat me up last week…” James tilts his head and seems to consider this option mentally while his eyes move up and down over Teddy, mouth curved up into the smallest grin that gives him away.

 

It is an act of desperation that has Teddy ditching all of his plans for this moment, which finally earns him Jamie’s full attention. “Will you just shut up and marry me?”

 

The question hangs in the air between them for a long moment that feels like an eternity to Teddy. He smiles softly at Jamie, who has been shocked into silence. Teddy watches as James opens his mouth to say something and then quickly shuts it, and it must be some kind of miracle because James Potter is never lacking for things to say.

 

Of course James had been working Teddy up, he was young and impatient and had been away for nearly two months. He has made a career out of showing the world what he wants them to see because that is just who he is and it catches him off guard when Teddy can so easily break down that façade; every single time. James blinks stupidly because he isn’t used to having his heart lodged into his throat and tears threatening to emerge. He knew Teddy would have something planned for their reunion, but he had never once expected _this_. “Yeah, okay.” He manages in a puff of exhaled air, and when Teddy smiles proudly and kisses him, he feels lightheaded.

 

“Valentine’s Day was a corny idea, wasn’t it?” Teddy asks sometime later, once they had found their way back inside the house and out of their clothes.

 

James is lying in the crook of Teddy’s arm and he rolls over to face him, sliding an arm across Teddy’s bare chest. “So corny,” James says, chuckling softly.

 

Teddy stares up at the ceiling and blushes again, still not quite able to believe that today is real and not just something he is dreaming about. “Well, I don’t care. I meant it.” He says, dropping his head to the side to peer at James.

 

Jamie wants to say something obnoxious and tease Teddy but he leans in closer to steal a kiss instead. “I knew you were gonna ask,” He murmurs against Teddy’s open mouth, unable to help himself.

 

Teddy lets out a little gasp of surprise and pulls back enough to peer directly at Jamie. “How did you know?” He asks, genuinely curious.

 

James snorts and laughs smugly, like he’s the smartest one in the room. “I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but you are pretty fucking easy to deduce, Teddy.”

  
Teddy wants to be indignant and object because he had thought he was so clever about concealing his plans. His pulse starts to thump in his ears because he feels cheated and frustrated and although he knows that these things can be summed up to ‘life with Jamie,’ it doesn’t soothe him nearly enough.

 

Ironically enough, the thing that does soothe him enough is a particularly position press of lips just below his ear. Life with Jamie, indeed.

 

❥❥❥❥❥❥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, me and my writing partner have probably written this pair into a million different marriage proposals, but what's one more, right?


	3. Jim/Sherlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fandom? What fandom?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The following work of fiction in no way depicts the views and head canons regarding Jim Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes to the writer. 
> 
> Read as: Jim would never be so easy and Sherlock would DEFINITELY shoot Jim.

**February 14 th, 6pm; 221B Baker Street, London**

Sherlock Holmes has always detested Valentine’s day—A purely fictional _holiday_ created by ordinary people to make themselves feel better and somehow less alone. Every person is born alone and they will die alone, Sherlock knows this. He pities the people out there in the world for not knowing it too.

 

Lying about on the sofa in your bathrobe and refusing to go out is a far more reasonable solution to the sickness that infects the masses on a day like today, lest it be contagious. Yes, no leaving of the flat today for Sherlock, definitely not.

 

Jim Moriarty has a slightly _different_ view of the dreaded V-Day. While he agrees with Sherlock that it is a senseless and fruitless work of fiction, he understands that it is also the perfect holiday to get what one wants. Jim is nothing if not an opportunist, and he thinks that today is the perfect day to get Sherlock Holmes _exactly_ where he wants him.

 

Jim’s mouth curves into a cruel smile as he reaches for the mobile sitting on the bedside table. His fingers quiver with anticipation as he swipes the device to life and cradles it in his firm grasp. He bangs out a text and then peers down at it, head swiveling on its axis as he considers his words carefully before sending it off.

 

_Did you get the flowers?_

_JM_

 

 

The mobile in Sherlock’s coat pocket vibrates against his thigh and he sighs dramatically as he fishes it out. He blinks down at the illuminated screen and rolls his eyes, all while quickly typing out a response.

 

_Wrong number._

_SH_

Jim chuckles lightly through closed lips, already amused with this game.

 

_You’re sulking. I love it._

_JM_

Sherlock’s eyes move lazily about the flat, ignoring the bouquet of flowers sticking out of the bin as he vaguely wonders if Jim is watching him. It wouldn’t be the first time.

 

_Boring._

_SH_

_I bet I can alleviate your boredom._

_JM_

_Not likely._

_SH_

_Shall I come and prove you wrong? I do love that game._

_JM_

_NO._

_SH_

Jim chuckles again and shakes his head, thoroughly amused. “All caps, someone’s playing hard to get.”

 

_What are you wearing?_

_JM_

_A pistol._

_SH_

_Sexy. At least take me to dinner first._

_JM_

_Boring._

_SH_

_Deflecting, how…Ordinary. The clueless detective, you’re adorable._

_JM_

_Pester someone else, I’m busy._

_SH_

_Oh Sherly, you know I love pestering you best._

_JM_

_Where are you?_

_SH_

_Now we’re getting somewhere. Change of heart?_

_JM_

_No. I would like to come round and shoot you with my pistol._

_SH_

_Are you flirting with me?_

_JM_

_Hardly._

_SH_

_So, about the flowers…_

_JM_

_I sent them back._

_SH_

_No you didn’t._

_JM_

_Fine. They’re in the bin._

_SH_

Jim pauses to tip his head back and chuckle quietly, thoroughly amused by the petulant tone of Sherlock’s texts. He marvels that anyone other than himself has the patience to deal with such a man-child for an extended period of time.

 

 

_I’ll assume the message was clear enough for you?_

_JM_

Sherlock’s gaze flicks to the stems sticking out of the near overflowing trash bin, completely void of emotion. He blinks several times before turning his attention back to the mobile, quickly sending of his text.

 

_Obviously.  
SH_

_Well?_

_JM_

_Well what?_

_SH_

_Humor me, Sherlock. Daddy wants to hear you say it._

_JM_

The correspondence stalls and Jim finds himself counting the ticks of the second hand as he waits. There is a reason that he confines himself to a locked room when dealing with Sherlock Holmes. Jim Moriarty has made a name for himself and his misplaced… _affection_ for the detective is certainly not standard behavior for a consulting criminal. His obsession with the detective began long before even Sherlock himself is aware of, which is precisely the reason that Jim seems incapable of letting go. Even now. The vibration of the mobile still in his hand draws his attention back and the anticipation is pushed aside, for now at least.

 

_You don’t love me, you love the chase. You send a meticulously constructed bouquet in hopes that I will read into the Victorian meanings behind the buds and what? Swoon like a schoolgirl? You say that I am clueless, but you are predictable and I’m bored._

_SH_

Sherlock hits send on his message without a second thought, although once it is done he briefly wonders if it was too much. He would be the first to admit that the endless games Moriarty constructed just for him were exciting, but he really didn’t know what else the man wanted from him. Feelings and emotions were not only lost on him, they were messy. And Sherlock already had more than his share of messes to clean up.

 

_Still searching for that cleverness, I see. Maybe they’re just flowers?_

_JM_

_But you **are** clever. It’s never just flowers._

_SH_

_First flirting and now flattery? I’m blushing._

_JM_

_Shut up._

_SH_

_They’re just flowers. Take them out of the rubbish._

_JM_

Sherlock glances at the bin once again, but does not get up from his lounging position on the sofa.

_Fine. Done._

_SH_

_You can’t lie to me Sherlock._

_JM_

_Where are you?_

_SH_

_You’re the detective, figure it out._

_JM_

Jim returns the phone to the bedside table and makes himself comfortable on the unmade bed he was currently lounging on. A lump beneath one of the pillows has him fishing for the source and coming up with a hard cover novel, which he raises an amused brow at. “Surprising.” He murmurs to himself as he turns the book over in his hands and opens it to the first page, content in reading a little _magical_ fiction while he waits.

 

A full twenty minutes pass before the door flies open and bangs against the back wall, revealing a mussed and robe adorning Sherlock Holmes, who was currently looking rather murderous. “Get out of my bed.” He mutters petulantly, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe, pale gaze fixed on the intruder.

 

Jim clucks his tongue disapprovingly and glances at the watch on his wrist, head shaking slowly. “Bit slow Sherlock, you’re slipping.”

 

Sherlock steps into the room and rounds the bed, gingerly seating himself at the very edge, safely out of reach of Jim. “You cheated.”

 

“You didn’t expect me to play fair, did you?” Jim arches a curious brow at Sherlock and closes the book he was reading while he waited. “I didn’t peg you for the _fictional type_.” He says with a smirk, waving the book in Sherlock’s direction.

 

Sherlock snorts and rolls his eyes because he really _is_ just a child and Jim purposely pushes all of his buttons. “It’s for a case,” He replies offhandedly, waving a hand and reaching for the book in question.

 

Of course Jim expects Sherlock to react precisely in this manner, which makes it rather easy for him to reach for Sherlock a skosh faster. “You can’t lie to me, Sherlock.” He murmurs, tugging the detective close enough to feel warm breathe on his face. Jim’s inky eyes travel from Sherlock’s icy blues, down to his lips, and back again and when his tongue darts out to lick his own dried lips, Sherlock swallows thickly and feels vaguely uncomfortable.

 

“Let me go,” he whispers, and Jim does not miss the sudden hoarseness in his tone.

 

Jim’s smirk is dark and sinister and Sherlock thinks he sort of resembles that Dark Lord from the book he’d been reading (which coincidently, really **was** for a case). The proximity brings perspiration and more confusion and now more than ever, Sherlock wishes he were anywhere else in the world.

 

“Never.” Jim whispers, and it is really more like a hiss that sends a cold chill straight down Sherlock’s spine. “We’re just alike, you and I. “ He adds, and before Sherlock can think to pull away Jim Kisses him and he is suddenly, inclined to agree.

 

                                                            ❥❥❥❥❥❥

 

 


	4. Abraxas/Tom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two boys, one fountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've not read Beside You in Time and select chapters of March 15th, this might be a little confusing. Maybe not, but behold: the explanation of the fountain. Finally!

**February 14th 1947/1995, 11pm; Malfoy Estate, Wiltshire**

**1947**

The country air is still biting and brisk because the weather hasn’t yet turned. Abraxas Malfoy pulls his cloak slightly tighter around his throat as he trudges through thick, overgrown brush; resolutely ignoring the way the thick material was repeatedly caught up by stray bramble. Abraxas is in a hurry because he is running out of time and as he weaves a well-known path through the forest with haste, he silently hopes that he is not too late.

It is another full minute before the forest thins and opens up into a small clearing that is surprisingly well kept, considering the location. His eyes fall upon a massive stone basin, whose water runs crystalline blue.

“Pray tell I am not too late.” Abraxas is clutching a circular talisman that is secured to a silver chain around his neck and he speaks more to the metallic disk pressed against his lips than to anyone else. When he reaches the fountain he drops the chain back inside his shirts and unclasps the traveling cloak affixed at the base of his neck and allows it to drop. He kneels before the smoothed stone edifice and peers down into the depths of water that is a little too intriguing to be natural. His fingers curl around the lip of the basin and his eyes fall closed and now, more than ever before, he silently prays to the gods above and the demons below, that he is not too late.

This particular fountain hadn’t always stood in the farthest and most secluded reaches of Malfoy estate. There was a time when the impressive structure was nothing more than a conversation between fellows. At the time of its erection, it was believed that the fountain could assist in a growing problem between two young men and as Abraxas whispered a silent prayer over the swirling water now, he hoped that this was still just so.

There is not sound nor disruption of air when he arrives, but still Abraxas knows that he has come. He smiles up to the stars above and opens his eyes, relief swelling swiftly inside. “I feared it was too late,” He murmured, dropping his chin to his chest and loosening his grip on the lip of the basin.

“I did promise,” The voice behind him is cold and ineffectual and yet it somehow still brings a cropping of goose-down-flesh to his skin.

Abraxas uses the fountain as an assist to push himself back to his feet, eyes still fixed on the swirling waters as he dusts his hands together slowly. “Yes, you did.” He replies quietly, lips curving into a faint smile as he turns to face the boy behind him who was partially hidden in the shadows.

Tom Riddle stands like a statue in the dead of night, his dark gaze merely the eyes of the indifferent mask that he wore like a second skin. Abraxas knows this mask well because he has spent the last ten years studying it in varying degrees of fascination. From nearly the first interaction he had with Tom at school, Abraxas has been not-so-secretly looking for flaws in his mask, not because he wishes to break Tom down so much as he admires all that Tom is capable of. Abraxas knows all about the terrible things Tom has done and much of what he plans to do still and he does not judge Tom because he understands on a level that most cannot. Tom Riddle has never apologized for being what he is and Abraxas has never asked, and perhaps this is the reason their bond had been formed, despite Tom’s insistence that it had not.

“Must you go?” Abraxas asks softly, taking a step closer to Tom, and then another.

Tom’s gaze narrows and bores straight through Abraxas, easily feasting upon his mind and rendering him powerless. Abraxas has never attempted to keep Tom out or shield any truth from him, but that still doesn’t stop Tom from taking what he wants in the most disarming way possible.

 

“You ask that which you already know the answers to, why?” Tom’s hold on Abraxas’ mind intensifies when he speaks in such an authoritative tone and the sensation makes Abraxas shudder involuntarily.

“Because I want you to stay.” Abraxas murmurs, eyes glassy but somehow still focused.

“Don’t be foolish, it doesn’t suit you.” Tom’s lip curls in mild disgust as he speaks, which does very little to deter Abraxas. Abraxas is used to this kind of treatment because it comes with the territory of kinship with someone like Tom Riddle.

“Let me come with you.” Abraxas counters, shuddering openly as he mentally works on erecting a mental wall strong enough to force Tom out of his head.

“No.” Tom’s response is spat with a finality that Abraxas thinks is more for Tom’s own affirmation than his.

Tom Riddle may have been able to dismiss the bond he shared with Abraxas Malfoy, but Abraxas would always be right there to remind him that it truly existed. Something strange and wonderful had transpired between the two boys, bred on a span of time when Tom had taken up teaching Abraxas proper mental control. Of course at the time Tom had only bothered because it suited his needs to keep Abraxas quiet in what he knew, but as time passed even Tom Riddle, as much as it pained him, could not deny that there was something connecting him to the Malfoy boy.

“Please Tom…Don’t leave me here alone.” Abraxas Malfoy has never begged for anything in his life and it rips apart his insides that he is not above such a thing now. He heaves a cleansing and heavy breath as he attempts to counter Tom’s intrusion with some Legilimens of his own.

This is how it always starts. Tom splitting Abraxas wide open and toying with him until Abraxas fights back. There has only been two times, to date, that Abraxas has successfully gained access to Tom’s mind—The first being back at Hogwarts when he was still a student to Tom’s teachings. The second was fourteen months gone, in this very clearing. Tom was well aware that his predilection for Abraxas had not gone unnoticed. He knew that it would be merely a matter of time before certain persons came to question Abraxas about Tom, and Tom could not allow that. Years had passed since those lessons in the dungeons at Hogwarts, and although Tom was free to roam in Abraxas’ mind whenever he chose, he was to be certain he was the only one.

Like before, Abraxas’ accomplishment was born out of cursory luck and sheer timing, but this time he did not see the distorted visions of Tom’s past, he saw himself as Tom sees him. It should have been easy for Tom to end Abraxas’ life where they stood that day, except it was not and Tom still has more trouble accepting that than he will ever admit. It was Abraxas who erected the large fountain out of a pile of rubble, after Tom’s disgust with humanity became too much to ignore.

A pensieve big enough to converge the bond that had become bigger than them both.

Together the pair imparted the magic upon the fountain that would see it still standing erect in a hundred years gone, and together the pair would stand at its base to siphon glimpses into the past into the shimmering liquid vortex. The fountain became home to the shreds of humanity that Tom could not burn out of himself, comingling with the bits that were simply too painful for Abraxas to hold on to.

“You are not alone, Abraxas.” Tom’s words cut through the density of the past and send Abraxas reeling back to the present. He stares openly into Tom’s molten eyes and wonders how many times Tom can bend him until he breaks.

“Aren’t I?” Abraxas asks, head tilting to the side as he takes the few steps required to close the distance between them. Tom’s gaze follows Abraxas as he moves, sharp and narrow and not nearly as reptilian as it had yet to become.

Abraxas raised a hand to Tom’s face, pale gaze searching for understanding that he knew he would never find. When he smiled and rubbed the pad of his thumb over a sharply carved cheekbone Tom remained impassive, but he also did not stop Abraxas either, which spoke volumes in and of itself.

For a long time neither man said anything at all, both content in the silence that enveloped them. Abraxas wanted to argue the subject further and force Tom to understand that together they were unstoppable, but he knew that Tom would never waver. Tom Riddle had truly been built to be alone, Abraxas knew it at thirteen years gone, and he knew it now.

Tom’s gaze never wavers from Abraxas as they stand there. He doesn’t understand the emotions that are so easily readable on Abraxas’ face because he has never truly felt them himself. For ten years he has allowed Abraxas to stand as close to his side as humanely possible because it suited Tom’s design, and although he would not deny that he did care for Abraxas in his own way, he could never truly give the other man what he wanted because he never possessed such a thing to begin with.

Abraxas smiles a watery smile at Tom, who looks on, brows shifting only just. “Come back to me someday, my island.” He says quietly, mouth turning down at its corners.

After this night, Tom will disappear into the world for ten long years, leaving Abraxas to wonder and hope for every day that he is gone. When Tom returns to London he is a changed man, hardly worthy of a name given at birth.

It had taken Abraxas longer than it should have to move on after Tom left. Although they had never really shared much more than a one-sided friendship, Abraxas felt the loss deep down into his very core. Eventually Abraxas married and produced an heir, as was and is expected of all pureblood males. This heir would grow up to become one of the first soldiers in Tom’s army of death. Tom never once asked Abraxas to join his ranks and in turn, Abraxas never asked, as was the nature of their relationship. The war ended abruptly with Tom’s suspected death, but Abraxas knew that their story wasn’t over just yet, and he was quite right…

**1995**

The last time Abraxas sets his weary and worn out eyes on Tom Riddle he is an old man. He is lying in the middle of his bed within the walls of the manor looking every bit the frail old man on the outside that he felt on the inside. Abraxas was tired and ready to sleep, but he was also waiting. Waiting for a promise to be fulfilled.

The clock had only just struck eleven pm when he arrived without a sound, although just as always, Abraxas knew he had finally come home. “Tom,” He breathed, smiling blindly as he held out a hand in the darkness, and then he waited for the validation that he’d longed for, for so very many years.

It took only a moment for a cold hand to slide into his Abraxas’ outstretched hand, the sensation of reality pulling a throaty chuckle out of him. “You came,” he murmured, pale eyes searching the darkness to solid form.

“I did promise.” Tom’s voice was like a direct line back to adolescence and Abraxas found himself swelling with tears that were seemingly of their own accord.

“Yes, you did.” Abraxas replied, and when Tom finally stepped out from the shadows and revealed himself, Abraxas heaved a contented sigh.

“I believe I owe you some stories.” Tom did not smile nor did his face register any outward emotion, but it didn’t matter. He had come to fulfill a promise he had made so many years ago and that was the only thing that mattered to Abraxas.

“Of all the devilish things you do,” Abraxas added, smiling enough for them both.

Tom took a seat on the edge of the bed at Abraxas’ side, hand still caught between the set of withered and aged ones that refused to let him go. He leaned over the dying man and whispered about all of the things that he had done and even some of the things had yet to transpire. He whispered truths about murder and power and the desire to cheat death. Tom spoke of murder and bloodshed like they were polite dinner conversation and even talked frankly about the disappointment Abraxas’ son turned out to be and how he planned to exploit his grandson.

Abraxas listened raptly as Tom spoke of all the terrible things he had done to the world and despite the horrors of the truths spoken in this room, Abraxas felt as if he as finally free. It wasn’t his job to save the world from Tom Riddle, after all.

Tom stays with Abraxas until his touch grows cold and he can no longer tether Tom to him. He says not a word as he lays the cold hand in his grasp on a chest that is now resting eternal and with any luck, peacefully. He does not turn back or cast final glances as he takes his leave, and when he reappears moments later in a clearing at the north east corner of the estate, it is unseen and unheard. Tom steps up to the fountain and draws his wand, which he uses to carve words into stone that will stand longer than he. Not a word is spoken as he flicks his wand a second time, this time rendering the contents of the fountain murky and broken. When he leaves Malfoy Estate he will not return until a particular meeting takes place with Draco Malfoy at this very fountain. Tom Riddle will leave this plane with the assurance that his secrets were carried to the grave, tethered by a bond that will never be broken.

 

❥❥❥❥❥❥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess the next pair? ;)


	5. Draco/Theodore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Theodore take Los Angeles, American Horror Story style.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are a fan of AHS:Hotel, you will quickly realize that this piece is an homage to a very particular scene from one of the first episodes, and coincidentally, my favorite scene of the season. Matt Bomer, amirite? ;) 
> 
> Anyways, endless thanks and adoration to my bestie, my muse, and the devil on my shoulder urging me to write this, Unkissed. 
> 
> Heed the warnings, there be blood in your future!

**February 14 th 7pm, Hotel Cortez; Los Angeles, California **

 

 

 _It is uncommonly warm for February._ This is the singular thought that turns over in Draco’s mind as he stands at a vanity gazing in the mirror, a long strip of silk caught between his fingertips. Slowly, he twists the smooth fabric around his knuckles and brings his hand up to caress his cheek, silver gaze fixed on the reflection before him. _Perfection_. He thinks to himself, pink lips curving into a devilish smirk as he leans over the glass tabletop to snort two perfectly cut lines of cocaine.

 

Draco Malfoy has been in love with himself for as long as he can remember. As a small child, he would spend his afternoons seated at his mother’s vanity table, brushing the fine flaxen strands atop his head with a silver handled brush like he’d watched her do countless times with her own hair. In adolescence Draco found that he was no longer content with sitting at his mother’s vanity recreating her actions, he wanted to _be_ her. Oh, it wasn’t so much that he wanted to _become_ Narcissa Malfoy as much as it was he wanted to embody all that she stood for. _Power. Poise. Perfection._ Narcissa had unwittingly inspired her son to strive for the beauty of the world in the palm of his hand, and he never stopped striving for that very thing, not even once he had achieved it.

 

Growing up, Draco had little time for relationships; people were merely tools to him, meant to be held at arms length. Used for specific purposes, only to be tossed away when that purpose was complete. This all changed when Theodore Nott came into Draco’s life.

 

Theodore Nott, spry little thing that he was, never took a single ounce of Draco’s shit. When Draco would push Theodore was right there, pushing right back with a cruel smile to match. Theodore frustrated Draco because he could not be manipulated, and it wasn’t until a fateful night beneath the stars that everything changed forever. Much like Draco, Theodore had always known what he wanted, and when that became Draco, he took that, too. Their first kiss had been much like a train derailment. Theodore forced it and Draco retaliated, and it would be some time before they came together permanently, down a path that would lead straight into the depths of hell.

 

By the time Draco had changed his mind, Theodore had fled, and it took Draco much longer than anticipated to track him down. The second time they kissed had been more like an explosion and after that, they were unstoppable. Theodore was reckless and deviant to Draco’s danger and they spent their lives stomping all over the world in designer footwear. Nothing was taboo or off limits because everything was a game. Whenever Theodore baited Draco into playing, Draco would play harder and faster and they never stopped; not once.

  
Their most recent pin on the map is Los Angeles, the city of Angels. Theodore thinks it’s a sign and Draco just wants to raise some hell.

 

Draco does not hear Theodore come up from behind, dripping and naked from the bathe he’d only just vacated, but his body reacts to the proximity and his lashes kiss pale cheeks suggestively. “Stop eye-fucking yourself, we’ve got shit to do.” Theodore’s voice is soft in Draco’s ear and the palms of his hands smooth over Draco’s back and come to rest at his waist. “We’ve got time,” Draco replies off-handedly, still staring at his own reflection. “If it’s fucking you want…” Theodore’s tone is pure seduction in his ear and it’s enough to transfer his gaze to the cerulean blue eyes watching over his shoulder. Draco remains stiff as Theodore’s hands travel over his partially clothed form, daring him to react. For his part Draco appears unmoved, although his dilated pupils say otherwise. Theodore digs his chin into Draco’s shoulder and smirks smugly as his hand flattens against Draco’s abdomen. This was a game they had played countless times before because the offer of dominance never got old. Theodore’s hand moves to cup the evident hardness in his pants and Draco bites the inside of his cheek because he is not quite ready to relent. He reacts in a blur of movements that read more like feline grace and before Theodore can counter, Draco has his back pressed up against the mirror with a hand clamped around his throat. “Fucking _you_ is what I want.” Draco hisses somewhat vehemently, eyes narrowing at his mate.

 

Theodore elicits a soft gasp as he is forced against the cool glass and the fire in Draco’s eyes renders him instantly hard. Theodore laughs openly and leans into Draco’s crushing grip around his neck, forcing himself into the pressure instead of trying to get away. Like every time that had come before this one, he was just as curious as Draco to see how this game played out.

 

Moments tick by that feel like nothing at all, the two men locked into a stare that screamed primal dominance into the otherwise silent hotel room. When Draco’s throat goes dry and he can no longer take it he leans forward, crushing Theodore in a violent kiss. His hand loosens its grip and drags over Theodore’s skin, which elicits the tiniest but approving gasp from the dark haired devil. Draco forces himself firmly against Theodore, effectively sandwiching him and taking up his wrists, that he holds high up overhead. Draco can feel the sanity slowly siphoning out as it often did in the heat of any given moment. Theodore makes him crazy and there isn’t a day that goes by that he isn’t completely proud of that simple fact. A sharp nip of pain momentarily clears his vision and it is only when he tastes his own blood on Theodore’s mouth, that he realizes Theodore had bit him. Hard.

 

Draco laps at the scant amount of blood smeared on Theodore’s lips and Theodore laughs into his open mouth, taking the opportunity to shove Draco back with enough force that he will have two palm-shaped bruises on his chest by morning. “The difference between us,” Theodore hisses as he advances, spitting blood on the floor. “Is that I take what I want.” Draco takes a step back and clenches his fists, ready to resort to violence if necessary. “You want to fuck me but you don’t have the balls.” Theodore’s hands curl around Draco’s biceps and force him backwards without pause or care. Draco knows that he’s already lost this game, he can feel it the moment Theodore forces his face down to the carpet and tears at his underpants. “Fuck you, Nott.” He spits through grit teeth, and Theodore can only laugh cruelly like the selfish asshole that he is.

 

Theodore’s hand comes down swift and hard on Draco’s bare ass and although Draco’s eyes water from the sting, he outwardly projects very little. “Maybe next time, Malfoy.” He says casually, mouth curving into satisfied grin as he brings his hand down once more. “That should do it,” Theodore says as he raises his hands, allowing Draco his freedom after just two swift spanks. Draco sits up and rests on his haunches, bloodied mouth curving into a smirk. You are a fucking terror, you know that?” He says, rather amused with the entire situation, despite the spanking he’d only just received. Theodore’s gaze is hungry as he drops down to his knees in front of Draco, reaching up to take his chin between firm fingers. “I’m _your_ fucking terror.” Theo admonishes, and then he leans forward to impart a kiss that is drastically different to the display that had just transpired.

 

It is not much later that Draco finds himself in front of the mirror again, this time dressed to the nines in a Charcoal grey Christian Dior bespoke that looks like it was cut from glass, specifically for his body. With practiced care his tightens the knot of his tie and smoothes over the front of his jacket, eyes raking over his own body with the sort of seduction that should be criminal. “Wear the hat,” Theodore whispers in his ear, blue eyes fixed on Draco’s in the reflection of the mirror.

  
Draco smirks and reaches for a custom gossamer top hat, carefully lowering it onto his head where it will sit like the perfect topper of an ornately wrapped gift from the devil himself. Theodore’s breath catches in his throat at the sight of Draco, and although he’s seen Draco make a designer suit his bitch on countless occasions before this one, he cannot help but marvel at the sheer beauty that encompasses the moment. “Perfect,” Theodore breathes as he moves away from Draco and heads towards the door, lest he rip off the suit and fuck Draco senseless right here; right now. Draco follows after one last, longing look at his reflection, stepping out into the hall as Theodore slides into a floor-sweeping black velvet coat with the collar turned up. Theodore’s hair is coiffed and there is just a _hint_ of black kohl smudged beneath his eyes because he’s lived with Draco far too long not to take his own appearance just as seriously.

 

The pair takes the lift in silence, Theodore with his arm bent at his side and Draco holding on like the candy that he was. They look exactly like gothic art come to life and Draco is in a state of semi-arousal the entire time because he gets off on excess. There was no denying that they made a striking pair, one can not help but stop and look when they pass you by, that is simply how it is. Theodore led Draco through the lobby of Hotel Cortez and into a waiting car, ignoring the hungry stares of those that lingered about.

 

In the back of a cab Theodore and Draco exchanged knowing glances and cryptic smiles that the driver watched curiously in the rearview mirror. There were no words spoken beyond the instruction of destination and when they arrived, Theodore wordlessly shoved a wad of American bills into the driver’s hand before leading Draco away and into the night. Silently the pair made their way through rows of tombstones, cutting a path through the Hollywood Forever Cemetery to Fairbanks Lawn. “Mmm, I love the midnight masses.” Draco licked his lips as they stepped onto the grass, pausing to wait while Theodore spread out a blanket for them to sit on.

 

The field was fairly packed and they had selected a seat near the back of the crowd of people watching the movie, already in progress. Theodore helped Draco down onto the blanket before joining him, leaning back on his elbows and glancing around the immediate area. Draco settled in next to Theodore, arm resting on his lounging form. He peered up at the movie screen, captivated by the black and white devil depicted for all to see. Draco had always been fascinated by the intrigue that people seemed to have with horror. He would wager that most of these people seated around him knew nothing at all of real horror, had never had to experience the truth of it first hand. He stared blankly up at the crude images and wondered how these people would handle _real_ horror. Draco knew better than most how easy it was to buckle in the face of such things, but he also knew that it was possible to transcend the emotion affixed to the sensation and truly _appreciate_ the beauty for what it was. It was times like this one that Draco felt like an island and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he was just a little too damaged, a little too lost.

 

The deep ponderings are quickly dispelled by the soft touch of Theodore’s finger against his arm, which draws his attention back to the here and now. Draco turns to gaze at Theodore, following his gaze to an occupied blanket a short distance away. Draco’s eyes shutter slowly as he stares at the couple that has somehow earned Theodore’s attention and he contemplates if these people are worth his time. The female is attractive enough, he supposed. Typical American fare as far as he was concerned. Her companion had a hint of ginger about him that made Draco’s lip curl in mild disgust, which was quickly reigned in, in favor of the thrill of the game.

 

The female smirked in a way that Draco assumed was meant to be coy and/or seductive, although it was ultimately lost on him. Theodore glanced over his shoulder at Draco, who cradled the back of his head and brought his mouth close enough to impart a kiss, silver gaze never leaving the couple. Theodore nipped at Draco’s ear and lapped at his pale throat before returning his attention back to the couple, who were watching the show intently. When Draco raised two fingers and flicked his tongue between, them the female smirked and bit her bottom lip.

 

This game was far too easy.

 

It didn’t take much more than this to snag this pair and when Theodore stood up and held out a hand for Draco, the couple was quick to follow suit. There were no words spoken as Draco and Theodore led the couple through the cemetery and back to a waiting cab, it wasn’t until they had arrived back at the hotel that anything was said aloud at all.   “This way children,” Draco said over his shoulder, leading the way towards the lift with Theodore at his side. The couple trailed closely behind, hands clasped and excitement of the unknown on their mouths. Draco and Theodore parted to accommodate a chair as they walked through the lounge, and when they raised their arms and pressed palms together as they passed _over_ the chair, the female giggled and her companion licked his lips.

 

Inside the lift the couple had to ruin the moment with actual words, which Draco rolled his eyes at and resolutely ignored. “Count S.,” Theodore said, placing a gloved fingertip to Draco’s chest while looking at the pair directly. “And I’m…Dom.” He said with a smirk, which subtlety gained Draco’s attention in the form of a raised brow.

 

Draco and Theodore had made it a rule to never use their real names after a particularly scandalous affair in Cancun several years back, and they never used the same names twice. Although it was generally Draco who dished out their aliases, generally on the spot, he was amused with Theodore’s improvisation.

 

The inside of the hotel suite was gaudy and dated, which excited Theodore and nauseated Draco. Theodore closed and locked the door behind them and Draco disappeared into the closet to change because he wasn’t about to toss Christian Dior on the floor for a couple of Americans.

 

Theodore took the opportunity to properly introduce himself to the couple, which was really just an excuse to find out which one of them gave better mouth. The female, whose name was never going to be important to Theodore, kissed carefully, like she was holding back. Theodore smirked and twisted his fingers in her hair and tugged her head back, earning him the first beautiful gasp of the night. Her companion took a protective step closer, which Theodore used to hook a finger in his belt loop and tug the man snugly up against his backside. Theodore wriggled his arse against the other man’s front while he tongue fucked his lady friend and he wasn’t sure which of them liked it more. Fingers clawed at his clothing as the pair made sloppy work of disrobing him and by the time Draco had stepped back out of the closet wearing nothing but his white leather riding gloves, Theodore was tangled in a mess of limbs and kisses atop a terribly cliché circular bed.

 

Theodore was instantly aware of Draco’s presence and his mouth came away from the nipple it had been abusing to gaze longingly at the only thing he could ever really love in this life. Draco’s mouth curved into a seductive grin and he pointed a solitary finger at the man on Theodore’s left before dropping a knee onto the mattress and joined the party in progress. He straddled the unfortunately ginger companion and tried not to look directly at him for anything other than an extended moment. He left the female to Theodore, that was more his department anyways.

 

Draco leaned over the body beneath him, avoiding direct kissing in favor of dragging his tongue along a freckled collarbone. His mouth curled against bare skin as he teased and toyed with this abomination, intent on playing this part to perfection.

 

Theodore kissed his way down her throat and chest, only pausing long enough to lean over and kiss Draco on the mouth, inwardly amused that Draco would rather go ginger than female. Slowly, Draco worked his way down the man’s form, fingers wrapping around the impressive erection trapped between them. Ginger let out an approving moan and arched into the touch, which Draco completely fed off of until the idiot went and did something completely stupid. Draco snarled deep in his throat as fingers that were not permitted, raked through his hair, rendering it mussed and sweaty. Draco sat up again, peering coldly down at the man trapped beneath him.

 

Beside him Theodore followed suit and when the pair turned to gaze into each other’s eyes, time once again meant nothing. Draco raised his left hand high over his head, silently depressing the release in his glove and grinning breathless at Theodore. Theodore raised his right hand up to create a mirror image with Draco, offering the blond a suggestive wink before everything changed.

 

It never ceases to amaze Draco how blood will continue to flow, even after death. White sheets and a tacky circular bed make for a dangerous backdrop to murder, which is really all this was. The moment Draco’s infantile blade sliced through freckled flesh he was instantly hard, a soft groan of approval and bliss on his tongue and lips. Of course, it was added bonus that his victim was a ginger, but it was really the power that came with the control of life and death that made him shudder with ecstasy.

 

For his part, Theodore is really not much better. He cuts with less precision because he never really took all those fencing lessons with Draco to heart, and maybe he’s just a little bit rebellious. She doesn’t die quick, nor quietly, as it turns out, and Theodore can only watch her, utterly fascinated as the light slowly dims behind her widened, horrified eyes. When she is just a twitching corpse he leans over and runs his tongue along her throat, blood smearing on his lips and chin. Draco watches him with hungry anticipation and when he can stand it no more, he grabs Theodore and crashes their mouths together in a bloody and murderous union.

 

Theodore is rendered blissfully incapacitated because what gets him off isn’t excess, it is blood and it is death. When Draco lies him down atop a pair of cooling corpses and uses their spent blood as lubricant to fuck him into submission, he finds that he can only mumble incoherently because he is dangling like a ragdoll on the fine line of pleasure and madness. Draco is not gentle with him and he prefers it that way because the pain has always transcended the pleasure anyways. “Who’s got the balls know?” Draco grunts, bloody fingers plying the stained flesh of Theodore’s thighs apart as he ruthlessly takes Theodore hard and fast, right there, in a massive pool of coagulating blood. “Gods, yes,” Theodore whimpers, head tipped back over the side of the bed, hair dripping blood onto the white tiled floor.

 

Draco purposely dips the palm of his hand in a sticky red puddle before fisting Theodore’s cock, which he punishes as brutally as the rest of his body. The sanity is gone again, replaced by the base need that lives inside of him to rip and tear. Draco does not stop, he does not slow or tread carefully because he knows that Theodore likes it just like this. Theodore is the blackest half of Draco’s soul and when they finally made it to hell, they would fuck on the Devil’s alter.  

 

Theodore’s throat is hot and dry from too much whimpering and when he comes he sees stars that bleed black and rain down over his eyes. Draco forces himself so deep inside of Theodore when he comes that he thinks maybe he will always remain and when it comes crashing down around him, he covers Theodore’s quivering body with his own and closes his eyes.  “I love you,” Draco whispers, lips sticky with drying blood.   “I love you, “ Theodore whispers back, body literally trapped between life and death.

 

                                                           ∞

 

“And you didn’t feel like going out tonight,” Draco says some time later, as he lay in the middle of a murder scene beside Theodore, cigarette caught between bloody fingers.

 

Theodore inhales deeply from his own cigarette, arm draped around Draco and head propped up against a corpse. “It’s not the getting ready, it’s the clean up.” The corners of his mouth curl with a faint smirk and Draco raises his head just enough that their eyes meet. “Call house keeping,” He says, lips curling only just.

 

“So, ginger,” Theodore remarks in between another deep inhale. “I didn’t know you had it in you.” His mouth curves into an amused grin as he exhales, eyes fixed on the ceiling above.

  
Draco snorts and takes a hit off of his own cigarette, exhaling deeply before responding. “It was either that or the female, and you _know_ how I feel about that.”

 

Theodore chuckles and shakes his head, thoroughly amused now. “Don’t knock it til you try it.”

 

“You’re the _freewheeling bisexual,_ not me.” Draco replies thinly, trying his very best to embody an offended aristocrat while lying nude with corpses and covered in blood, and when Theodore laughs, he begrudgingly joins in.

 

                       

                                                ❥❥❥❥❥❥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't pretend that She Wants Revenge wasn't playing in your head the entire time you read this. ;)


	6. Magnus/Alec

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec has an important question for Magnus and Magnus just wants to dance. 
> 
>  
> 
> Post CoHF

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Malec, I've missed you. *Heart eyes*
> 
> So, it's been a minute since I've written Malec, and if you don't like it, sorry 'bout your luck. :) It's been so long that I literally had to re-read the entire TMI series before writing this. No joke. Anywho, the bestie requested some 'Malec smut' -direct quote- and I tried my best to deliver since they are the bestest bestie and write me endless Crylo Ren fic. <333 Seriously, if you haven't read Unkissed, gtfo and get on it.

**February 14, 8pm; Brooklyn, New York**

 

The seasons seemed to be slipping a little bit farther behind each year. Alec couldn’t help but notice it as he hurried down a damp sidewalk, coat turned up against the wind and head bowed towards his feet. He’d been kept much later than anticipated at the Institute today and as a result, he was left hurrying to meet a Warlock and hoping said Warlock wasn’t terribly cross with him. He wove his way expertly through throngs of people all rushing in their own haste, untouched and unnoticed as he made his way down the darkened streets. He passed beneath one streetlight after another, the heavy and unmistakable scent of rotting wood, sulfurous exhaust, and stray cats consuming him. _Brooklyn spice_ , Magnus used to joke, when he had first moved here. At the time he hadn’t been terribly amused, although he had long-since become accustomed to his surroundings; all of them. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he walked, crisp blue eyes alert and watchful. His fingers closed around a small box within the confines of his coat pocket and his mouth quirked up at its corner with a faint smile. There was a time in his life when he would have dismissed what he was about to do as a verbose mundane ritual, but as his fondness for the smells of Brooklyn had changed, so had countless other aspects of his life. Alec’s gaze lifted his chin from his shoulder as he came upon the gas-lit lamps that were posted out front of a refurbished industrial building, sandwiched between two others of very similar working. He paused as his eyes moved to the window two stories up, shivering imperceptibly for reasons that had nothing at all to do with the weather.

  
Alec could see the soft twinkle of star shaped string lights through the gauzy curtains that partially shaded the window; the type of curtains that didn’t serve any purpose other than looking what Magnus had assured him was “stylish and smart.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and curled his fingers tighter around the small box inside his pocket, eyes wide as he stared up at the window. The first time Alec had found himself inside the walk-up seemed like a far away dream to him now. So much had happened since then, so many changes that had seemed so stifling at the time were now just his past. His mind produced an image of the first time he’d laid eyes on Magnus Bane, who was nothing more than a glittery downworlder who might have held some answers that didn’t seem all that important to him at the time. Alec hadn’t wanted to come to the party that night, had tried his best to dissuade his siblings in fact, not that they listened to him. He smiled a bit sadly and shook his head, forcing the faded memories from his mind. A crisp breeze came barreling down the sidewalk and swirled around his booted ankles, carrying with it dead leaves and decaying trash that caught up against the side of the building.

 

He swung one of the glass doors open and slipped inside the building, taking the steps two at a time. His gaze flicked to the door on the landing below the loft he shared with Magnus, dark brow arching at the cluster of pink rose petals clinging to the door in no particular design. Alec had never met the neighbors below, but he still felt as if he knew much, _much_ more of their torrid relationship than he had any right to know. His head tilted as he stepped up onto the landing, fishing into the pocket of his jeans for his key and ignoring the way his fingers fumbled on the cool metal for purchase. The sounds of music filtered through the crack beneath the door and Alec shook his head, finally managing to pull the key from his pocket and fitting it firmly into the lock.

 

It did not matter how long he’d lived with Magnus, Alec would never grow accustomed to the fickle nature of his decorating habits. He could be walking into a Gothic dormer one day, and a Japanese Zen room the next. Today, he found himself standing in a simplistic space that was far more muted minimalist than he was used to seeing from Magnus. His eyes moved over the room in a single, sweeping gaze, pausing on the Warlock in question, who was dancing on a pounded steel coffee table with his eyes closed.

 

 

Alec blinked slowly as he stared at Magnus, who had either genuinely not heard him come in or was just pretending; Alec bet on the latter. The beats of the song playing seemed to seep through the walls and they shook Alec’s insides in fast, rhythmic succession. He remained frozen where he was, watching Magnus with an expression that was probably far more readable than he would have liked. Alec had always been absolute shit at keeping his heart _off_ of his sleeve, as it were. Magnus’ arms were waving over his head, which tossed back in time to the music that seemed to fill up every inch of the loft. Alec licked his lips and sucked the swell of his bottom lip into his mouth, between his teeth. He felt his chest constrict and his pulse quicken, the music drowned out by the soft buzzing that occupied his ears. Seeing the Warlock after being away was always like this, even months and months after the Dark War had ended. He knew it was residual effect, left over from a time in his life when he hadn’t been sure if either of them would live to see another day. He also knew that his subconscious’ fear of losing Magnus would most likely fade over time, although he couldn’t say how _much_ time that may or may not be. Alec’s heart twisted with all of the love he felt for Magnus and his brows knitted together where he stood, yet undiscovered. Magnus had changed his life in so many strange and wonderful ways; Alec’s greatest wish was that he could return the favor, even by half.

 

As if sensing his presence, Magnus’ eyes snapped open and he smiled a smile that melted Alec’s heart just a little bit more. “Major Lazer,” he said, pointing at nothing in particular. Magnus’ fingertips cracked electric blue as he jumped off the coffee table and snapped them once, the deafening beat of the song immediately ceasing to play. “Major who?” Alec asked blankly, twisting his hands out of his pockets as Magnus sidled up to him.

 

“Never mind,” Magnus replied as he stepped right into Alec’s personal space, reaching up to brush aside strands of unruly dark hair that had fallen across his eyes.

 

Alec’s pulse jumped slightly as warm fingertips grazed his face and he smiled, silently willing himself to just _breathe._ “I love what you’ve done with the place,” He said as he reached out and hooked a finger in the belt loop of the burgundy jeans Magnus was wearing, using the leverage to firmly tug the Warlock closer.

 

His smile quirked up at the corner in a way that Made Magnus’ blood shimmer in his veins and quickly wound his arms around Alec’s neck and smiled back. “You should see the bedroom,” Magnus whispered as he leaned forward, mouth ghosting Alec’s ear just enough to send a shiver shooting straight down his spine.

 

“Is that an invitation?” Alec asked, arching a dark brow as his hands came to rest on the other’s hips.

 

Magnus’ smile turned coquettish and his cat eyes gleamed in the soft glow of twinkle lights. There were so many things that he loved about Alec that it would be impossible to pinpoint just one reason, but it was moments like this that made him think that his candor might be near the top of the list. “Absolutely,” Magnus replied brightly as he leaned forward to deposit a kiss against Alec’s lips that were icy and wind-chapped and altogether perfect. “But first, we dance.” He added brightly, pulling away and catching Alec’s hand before he could protest.

 

Alec’s head shook slowly and although he tried to plant himself firmly where he stood, he knew that the situation was hopeless because it was impossible to deny Magnus anything. “I don’t _dance_ ,” He muttered as he was pulled towards the big open patch of floor in the living space.

 

Magnus laughed lightly and snapped his fingers, the deafening music returning and quickly filling up every inch of the loft. “It’s easy,” Magnus whispered in his ear, hands dropping to Alec’s waist and guiding him into subtle movement.

 

Alec stared blankly at Magnus, disbelief _clearly_ written across his face. Magnus’ hips were swiveling and rocking and Alec concentrated on them instead of the awkward movements he was forcing out. Magnus rolled his body against him and his hands never strayed very far from Alec’s body. It was clear that Alec was uncomfortable, which Magnus found terribly endearing. He’d lived hundreds of years and experienced so many wonderful things, but somehow Alec’s unassuming light managed to outshine it all.

 

Magnus leaned against Alec and whispered in his ear, fingertips tracing up the center of his chest over his clothes. “Close your eyes Alexander, “ He pressed himself firmly against the other, his movements slowed down and drawn out, willing Alec’s body to follow. “Let the music be your guide,” He added, a small smile curving his mouth upwards as Alec began to move with him. “That’s it,” Magnus’ hands smoothed over the front of Alec’s worn sweater, creeping beneath the coat he was still wearing and slowly pushing it over his shoulders. There was really no need for such things indoors. Alec still had his eyes closed and did not seem to notice his coat fall to the floor. His hands rested on Magnus’ hips and held him close, which Magnus didn’t mind one bit. The music thumped Alec’s insides in a steady rhythm that was impossible not to follow, particularly with Magnus’ body pressed up against him and showing him the way. It didn’t take long before his movements smoothed out and they moved together like a seamless unit caught in a whirlwind of loud beats and crystal-cut lyrics. Alec’s fingertips curled around Magnus’ hips and pinned their bodies together, his own hips greedily following the Warlock’s movements. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine and he was vaguely aware that he had lost his jacket, but the music in his ears and the body moving against him made it virtually impossible to concentrate on such things.

 

Magnus watched Alec unguarded, his insides swollen with the love contained within him. It never ceased to amaze him how open and honest Alec was, as if he lived his entire life by a code that did not involve anything other than blinding truth. Alexander was something that Magnus hadn’t even been looking for, but he had managed to find Magnus all the same. His love had awoken something dormant inside of the Warlock that he had locked up and put away, and he wasn’t sure there were enough ways in the universe to properly thank Alec for bringing him back to life, but he certainly was not above trying.

 

When he could stand the separation no more, Magnus leaned forward and closed his mouth over Alec’s slightly parted lips, pulling a contented sigh from him that Magnus extinguished with a kiss. The music wrapped itself around Alec’s senses and his form and when Magnus’ tongue, soft and wet, slid over his bottom lip, he could not stifle the whimper in his throat. Alec’s entire body was suddenly alight with a fire that could not be doused, his soul singing openly beneath the expert touch that Magnus wielded at his fingertips. Magnus laughed into Alec’s open mouth as nimble fingers fumbled with the few buttons he’d bothered to cage at the front of his shirt and he pulled back, just enough room to let Alec work between them.

 

This time it was Magnus with a whimper on his lips as scorching fingertips traced over his bare skin reverently; wondrously. He tilted his head back and lowered his arms obediently as Alec quickly divested him of his shirt and tossed it unceremoniously on the floor, a wicked grin on his lips. “You’re so perfect,” Alec whispered as he dropped his head to press a string of feather-light kisses to Magnus’ collarbone. “And yours,” Magnus replied pointedly, mischief dancing behind green slit eyes as he inched the shabby sweater Alec was wearing up and up until it was tugged over his head and tossed on the floor, not to be outdone. Alec’s hair was longer than usual and seemed to be taking its role of _unruly mess_ extremely seriously.

 

Alec folded his arms around Magnus and brought him back in, a soft groan of approval escaping him as _skin_ smoothed against _skin_. “See? Dancing isn’t so bad.” Magnus purred in his ear, chuckling softly and sending another involuntary shiver straight through Alec’s core. Alec smiled but said nothing, foregoing words for another kiss that took the Warlock’s breath straight away. Their movements slowed into a seductive rhythm as they kissed and by the time their lips broke apart, Alec was gasping for reasons that had very little to do with lack of oxygen. He gazed at Magnus openly, all of the words he longed to say, dying on his lips as his throat worked overtime to try and assimilate. He felt feverish and alive and although he wished he could form words that would flow like poetry or some other brilliant way to express his thoughts, he settled for a smile and what he knew in his soul instead.

 

“I love you,” He whispered, pressing their foreheads together, eyes never leaving the other.

 

Magnus smiled and smoothed his hands across Alec’s back, which effectively caused Alec’s pulse to stutter uncontrollably. “I know,” He replied, searching Alec’s disarming sapphire gaze. “I love you too, always.” He added quietly, capturing Alec’s mouth in another imploring kiss. Alec’s body melted into him and he smiled into the kiss and guided Alec backwards with firm hands on his hips. Alec’s lashes kissed his cheeks and he allowed himself to be molded and sculpted into something that would please Magnus because at the end of each day, that was really the only thing that Alec wanted to do. He had already experienced a life without Magnus in it, by his own doing, and although that time was also in their past, the memory of the agony was not so easily forgotten.

 

The back of Alec’s legs bumped up against an elephant grey sofa and he let out a little gasp of surprise into Magnus’ open mouth, which pulled a soft chuckle from the Warlock. Magnus’ fingertips curled into the front of Alec’s jeans and expertly worked the button fly, carefully parting the closure and inching them down without breaking their connection, for even a moment. Teasing fingertips brushed against him and had his heart leaping into his throat, sensations that Alec had grown extremely accustomed with since he’d met Magnus. Alec found himself standing in Magnus’ arms, jeans pooling around his ankles. He wasn’t shy or self-conscious, Magnus had long since divested him of those feelings, but it didn’t stop him from shivering, despite the fever that mottled his pale flesh deep red. Magnus quirked a single brow as he slowly removed his own pants and Alec couldn’t help but smirk because he was still moving to the music that had been drowned out by the forceful beating of Alec’s own heart.

 

Magnus guided Alec down onto the sofa and aligned himself atop, the ease with which they fit together, stealing his breath away. Every indent and swell that Alec’s body supplied was fit with a contrasting shape of Magnus’ own body and when he looked down into those blue eyes that had been his undoing since the first time they met, he could only smile. Every inch of their bodies were touching, and although Magnus could have spent an entire day precisely like _this,_ he knew that Alec was not quite so patient. Still, he took his time with the other, imparting teasing kisses along the taut column of his throat, tracing the permanent lines of the runes he found so beautiful with the tip of his tongue. Alec whimpered appreciatively beneath him and pulled him down, forcing a friction that blew his eyes out to the color of storm clouds. Magnus quieted his frustration with more insistent kisses, teeth catching skin and scoring it gently. He reached between them, fingers circling their matching erections and sliding over them in unison.

 

Alec’s eyes fluttered closed and he arched back against the arm of the sofa, momentary lost in the attention. Magnus smirked darkly down at Alec, his movements purposely slow and calculated. Perhaps he enjoyed seeing Alec fall apart a little too much, but he could not help it. Alec was a beautiful creation that Magnus assumed had been made just for him, lovingly handcrafted by the angel and sent to the Warlock for safekeeping. Alec was his to pleasure and tease, and although there was nothing but love in Magnus’ soul, he reveled in the ease with which he was able to pull such a range of emotion out of Alec. _His Alexander._

 

So lost was Magnus in thoughts of pleasure and control that he didn’t readily notice that Alec was peering up at him, breath ragged and hair already damp with sweat.  
“Magnus,” He breathed raggedly, and the sound of it was so beautiful that Magnus could have shed a tear, perhaps two.

 

Magnus leaned over Alec and kissed him deeply, acutely aware of what he needed from him. Gently, he parted Alec’s thighs with a knee as he pulled back from his mouth, Alec’s bottom lip caught firmly between his teeth. Alec’s throat constricted another whimper and Magnus smiled with empowerment. He hovered over Alec’s entire body, the crackle of blue magic muted in his fingertips as he traced them over the marked surface of Alec’s form. Magnus took his time with Alec, working him slowly apart until Alec was reduced to a writhing mess, begging him not to stop.

 

Alec had long-since given into the fact that he was putty in Magnus’ hands. The Warlock had the ability to reduce him to a puddle of malleable need with such skill that it should have been alarming, except it wasn’t. Alec loved Magnus so totally that he chose to see his weakness where Magnus was concerned as a testament of his love, which wasn’t really weakness at all.

 

The room stilled as Magnus leaned over him, peering down at him with those green cat eyes that saw right into Alec’s soul. His breath caught in his throat as time slowed down to a crawl, only the sound of his rapturous heart breaching the silence that seemed to swallow him up. Magnus murmured something inaudible in his ear that sounded like _I love you_ and then wedged himself so firmly inside of Alec that he was cast out on a chartless sea without a life preserver.

 

Magnus was always gentle with Alec; he was painfully aware that Alec’s sexual experiences began and ended with him. He ached with a need to make every intimate encounter unforgettable, not only because he loved Alec with every molecule of his make up, but also because he was selfish enough to want to be the first _and_ the last. Slowly, he inched deeper into Alec’s pliant form, stilling only when he was completely engulfed, in a desperate attempt to recapture a breath. Alec was watching him in that utterly beautiful mix of unfettered love and wanton abandon that he wore like armor when they had sex. Magnus loved this look because it was even _more_ readable than Alec’s usual range of emotion, how that was possible, Magnus did not know.

 

Alec had become something of an expert of Magnus’ expressions as well and he knew the current one intimately. He recognized the wondrous glint in the Warlock’s gaze for what it was and reached up, curling his fingers around the back of Magnus’ neck and pulling him down. “Fuck me,” He murmured against the other’s lips before crashing their mouths together.

 

A throaty chuckle vibrated in Magnus’ throat at Alec’s candor and he kissed him with renewed intensity and gave him precisely what he asked for, and then some. He knew that Alec was strong enough to take anything that he could give, and perhaps it was Alec’s blunt reminder that kindly pointed that out for him now. Magnus pulled back nearly to the point of disconnect, eyes fixed on Alec’s flushed face as his hips snapped back, sending him deep enough to make the other’s eyes flash with pleasurable surprise. Magnus liked to think of himself as a tease but he really wasn’t anything more than a slave to the whims of a beautiful Shadowhunter with a body so sculpted and agile that it really should have been criminal. It didn’t take Magnus long to find a rhythm that suited them both and when he lowered himself down closer, Alec was quick to bring him all the way down with a firm grip and a waiting mouth.

 

Alec couldn’t feel his toes. This was the one coherent thought that floated at the edges of his mind as if on a breeze, as Magnus moved above him and successfully forced everything else out. He arched into every firm thrust, shimmering stars bursting in his peripheral. His fingertips scrabbled for purchase on Magnus’ smooth, tanned skin, curling into his hipbones and forcing him down _harder, better, faster_. A string of throaty groans jumped out of his throat and his eyes rolled back into his head because he was utterly lost in sensation.

 

Magnus shifted just enough to take Alec in his hand, stroking him firmly in union with his own movements. Alec’s eyes squeezed shut and he had a white-knuckle grip on the armrest behind his head. His body arched up to meet Magnus, thrust for thrust, trying his best to ignore the impending release that was already coiling in his abdomen. His eyes snapped open and a string of breathy moans escaped him of their own accord. Beads of sweat clung to limp hanging strands of Magnus’ hair like raindrops and Alec could only smile and breath “I love you” before he let it all go.

 

The weight of the words on Alec’s lips twisted Magnus’ heart so tightly that he gasped and buried his face in the warm juncture where Alec’s shoulder met his throat, head swimming in the sensation of the moment. There were so many things he had yet to experience with Alec, so many moments yet to create, but somehow none of that seemed to matter. They had everything they needed, right here.

 

“Marry me,” Alec blurted out some time later, as they lie there on the sofa in a tangle of sated limbs and lazy kisses. Of course, this was not at all how he had pictured this moment playing out, but he was feeling far too relaxed to worry about possibly ruined plans now.

 

Magnus sighed softly against Alec’s chest and smiled, tracing the sharp lines of his runes with a single fingertip. “Any time, any place.” He replied without hesitation, and despite how casual the moment may have seemed, Magnus knew that Alec was just as sincere as he.

 

Later, when they found the energy to actually get off the sofa, Alec would take out that small velveteen box and open it for Magnus, who would smile and hold out his hand, content in the knowledge that Alec would be his, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were curious, the Major Lazer song Magnus was grooving to was the All my love remix.  
> If you don't know it, you should. :)


	7. Albus/Gellert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Until we meet again, Gellert...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Sniffle*  
> Grindeldore, amiright?
> 
> I couldn't leave my depressing 19th century boys out of the V-Day bag, so here we are. I love this ship and I will not apologize if you happen to shed a tear here. 
> 
> As always, endless worship and adoration to my bestie and my writing partner, Unkissed. Save me a seat in the Crylo Den bae, I'm comin! ;)

**February 14 th 10pm; Hogwarts Castle, Scotland**

****

_I bear the scars of one who has lived a dreadfully long life. Over the years, I have tried my best to atone for the mistakes of my youth, for make no mistake; I was a misguided soul at one point in time. Most days I am satisfied with the lot I have managed to obtain for myself, but sometimes…yes, sometimes, I cannot help but think of the past…_

_He was a bronzed god that shone so brightly he could burn out the sun. It is important that you know that. He came to me in in the winter of 1899, a teenage runaway with a destiny and a purpose. I suppose I should have taken more care, knowing what I did about him, but you see; it was impossible to take care in the presence of someone like Gellert. He was a beautiful and mysterious creature and he wanted to spend his time with **me** , there simply was no care to be had._

_Gellert came to Godric’s Hollow to stay with his Aunt after he had unceremoniously been expelled from Durmstrang Institute. I cannot say that I was much surprised upon meeting him; he had fire in his eyes and mischief dancing on his tongue. No, I was not surprised at all. Bathilda Bagshot wasn’t exactly the neighborly sort, but I was respectful enough in my youth to come when she sent word that her visiting relative needed an escort around town. Of course, I didn’t really want to do it, between Aberforth and Ariana, I really couldn’t spare any more time—But still I went._

_The first time I laid eyes on Gellert Grindelwald I was struck mute by the sheer power of his beauty. I was standing in Bathilda’s sitting room being polite when the creak of the stairs alerted me to his presence. I still remember the sensation of having my heart immediately take residence in my throat and the tiny, inaudible gasp that escaped past my parted lips. Gellert jumped off the stairs with a proud grin and eyes that held much too many secrets for someone so young. He circled my stiff form slowly, like a wild predator, sizing me up and considering my worth. I held my breath as he did this and my fingers curled into my palms to hide the tremors. I knew nothing of him but his name at that moment but somehow I knew that I wanted him to be mine._

_It took him only moments to decide that we should be friends, but somehow it felt like agonizing hours, stretched out until I was lightheaded from lack of proper breathing. Gellert quickly became my companion, my world, and yes, even my lover. He knew exactly what words to say to get my ire up and exactly where to touch me to make my pulse race. He was my junior and always my better, I will never deny it._

_Sadly, our time together was short lived. Gellert had plans and I had yet to find my strength, and after a fateful night that would alter my entire life, he was gone. Disappeared into the world he so desperately wished to dominate._

_Until we meet again, Gellert…_

It’s late in the evening when Albus Dumbledore sits down at his desk and heaves a heavy sigh. He has fulfilled all of his obligations as Headmaster and seen to any and all concerns before secreting away to his office to be alone. Within the confines of his locked sanctuary he allows his mask to melt away, leaving behind a weary old man in its absence. Albus has been playing the part of the stoic Headmaster for so long that it feels unnatural to be anything else. No one would ever know the secrets he would ultimately carry with him to his grave because he never allowed anyone in; not since Gellert.

 

A shaky sigh prattles past Albus’ parted lips as he reached up to remove the half moon spectacles that had become something of his trademark appearance. His eyes shutter and he rubs calloused fingertips over the heavily lined skin of his eyelids, forcing shimmering stars to pop out across the blackness. Today had been difficult, but this day always is. St. Valentine’s Day isn’t anything that he personally has ever partaken in, but February 14th still manages to get beneath his skin. He supposes it’s the sentiment that drives the actions of so many on this day of the year that reminds him of his own foolish actions, so very long ago.

 

Albus was eighteen years old when Gellert stepped into his life and effectively upended the entire structure of it. It amazes him still, decades after the fact, that that handful of months managed to shape his entire life. Gellert’s stay in Godric’s Hollow was as short lived as his affair with Albus, but somehow the blond devil had managed to leave his mark on both.

 

It doesn’t do good to dwell on the past. Albus knows this because it has been his mantra for years layered upon years. Most days he is successful at keeping Gellert’s memory at bay, other days, not so much. He leans back in his chair and rests his chin on a closed fist; pale blue eyes scanning the vast space afforded him. His gaze pauses on a large cabinet to his left and he knows that he should look away, but he cannot. The corners of his eyes pull down into a sagging frown and his chair swivels to the left of its own accord. Albus is tired of pretending and tired of ignoring the pain that permanently resides in his chest. Maybe tonight it would be okay; it’s only _one night._ Gellert is never coming back; it’s not like any of this even matters anymore anyway…

 

 

Albus reaches for the cabinet with shaking bent fingers, carefully pulling free the latch and allowing the doors to fall open for him. The shimmer of silver liquid catches his eyes and throws the watery blue irises into a shining dance that steals his breath. He stares down into the massive pensieve, heart constricting painfully as distorted images of his life swim past the surface in fleeting, lazy swirls. This hurts, it always hurts, but it does not stop him from staring down into his memories all the same. Albus wishes he could scrub away the stain that Gellert left on his soul, Merlin knows he’s been _trying_. But that’s the thing with souls, isn’t it? Once you give yours away, you never really get it back, no matter how much hurt divides giver from receiver. He hates this part of himself more than he hates his teenage self. He loathes the knowledge that Gellert still has power over him, even now and it is this crushing fact that twists his weathered face into a pained grimace now. Albus doesn’t want to remember but he is too selfish to give Gellert up. This pensieve is a double-edged sword and Albus knows it, but he isn’t strong enough to destroy it because that would be destroying Gellert too, and he couldn’t bear it.

 

He cannot stifle the cry of anguish that escapes him, nor can he halt the tears that streak down his face because _this_ is who Albus Dumbledore is. Not the studious Headmaster, not the formidable wizard, but the broken boy who gave his heart away too soon.

 

A solitary teardrop falls into the pensieve and upsets the silvery vortex, which sends a clearer image to its surface. Albus squeezes his eyes shut as Gellert’s watery face smiles up at him from the basin and he groans with a despair that sets fire to every inch of his body.

 

Albus hates this part of himself, but that hate is not enough to stop him from diving headfirst into a memory, all the same.

 

**1900**

_Albus is sprawled out prone on a patterned blanket beneath the stars, chin resting on balled fists, sharp blue eyes fixed on the sky-clad figure of a dancing boy. Albus’ lips are twisted into a smirk as he watches the boy throw his arms up and shout at the blackened sky above. Although he is fully clothed, Albus feels connected to the boy in mind, body, and soul. He understands the reasons behind the ancient ritual, even if he doesn’t really believe it will bear any effect on their lives. It also helps that he rather enjoys watching Gellert prance naked through the grass, such a vision he creates. Albus wishes he were an artist, if only to capture the beauty lain out before him._

_“Come,_ _mein Geliebter, partake with me.” Gellert has paused his movements to address Albus, who tries his best to keep his gaze firmly fixed on Gellert’s face._

_“I couldn’t,” Albus says a bit shyly, head shaking soft enough that the movement barely upsets the tangle of limp hair framing his face._

_“You would displease the Gods?” He asks with a sharply arched brow, fists planted firmly on bare hips._

_“I don’t believe the Gods actually care about your silly ritual.” Albus counters with a bold smile that he doesn’t altogether feel and remains where he lies._

_“Persuading is what you are after, I see through your ruse.” Gellert tosses his head back and laughs like he always does, wild and free._

_Albus offers a minimal shrug but says nothing, which only makes Gellert laugh harder. In one fluid movement Gellert has dropped to his knees beside Albus on the blanket, golden eyes alight with fire. Albus shifts on the blanket so that he might properly see Gellert, a telling flush creeping over the bridge of his nose to stain freckled cheeks. Gellert leans closer to him, not touching, but forcing him onto his back with the sheer power of his gaze. Albus stares up at him, breath caught in his throat as anticipation tears at the layers of his skin from the inside out. “I will have you sky-clad beneath these stars this night mein Geliebter, one way or the other.”_

_Gellert’s voice is like liquid mercury that inches over Albus, melting him into something far more malleable than should be possible. Albus nods silently but remains stiff, his fingers twisting into the wool blanket for anchoring. Gellert smiles down at Albus and reaches up, fingers twirling the ties of his of his loose-fitting cotton shirt. Albus’ breath catches again and the faintest gasp escapes him, which causes Gellert’s smile to twist into a smirk._

_Albus is shaking as Gellert’s hands smooth over the flat lines of his abdomen, inching the bothersome garment upwards until it is caught in the bend of his arms. Gellert says not a word as Albus obediently raises his arms, allowing the other boy the freedom to tug his shirt over his head and toss it carelessly aside. Albus feels vulnerable lying beneath Gellert without a shirt, despite the fact that he is still the more concealed of the two._

_Gellert soothes his racing heart with a smattering of kisses that trace over his bare skin and leave behind a wetness that makes him shiver. Albus cannot help but arch into Gellert’s ministrations because he covets these moments above all else. It was painfully easy to love Gellert for all the fantastic thoughts and ideas that filled his head, but his intimacy was not so freely given and in this regard, Albus felt infinite and chosen._

_A soft gasp escapes him as Gellert’s fingers curl into the front of his breeches and gently work them open, those hazel eyes never leaving him as he divests Albus of those, too. “See, I did say I would have my way,” Gellert murmurs against the shell of Albus’ ear, sending a shiver through Albus that rocks his entire form. Albus feels as if far more than his body is bared for Gellert, although he wonders if that had not been the other boy’s plan all along. “Yes,” Albus whispers in response, and when Gellert kneels between his parted thighs, he surrenders his will and tosses aside any remaining embarrassment._

_Gellert takes his time with Albus because even at seventeen, he knows how to mold people into useful things. Albus allows his heart to rule his mind, Gellert had seen this on him the first time he’d laid eyes on Albus, and he’s been trying to change that flaw every since. He pays worship to Albus’ body because he is aware that this above all else is what Albus desires. He will plunder every part of Albus until there is nothing left but a shell because he thinks he is doing him a favor, and he will not think better of it because he is the stronger of the two._

_By the time these two boys become one Albus is gasping for a breath he cannot obtain. This is not the first time Gellert has breached him, and he knows it will not be the last, but every time they come together Albus feels his soul break apart just a little bit more. For his part, Gellert seems to enjoy these moments as much as Albus. He forces himself into Albus again and again with the reckless abandon of a boy who thinks the world owes him a favor. Albus clings to Gellert’s forearms so firmly that there will be discolored indents left behind. He is repeatedly thrust into the interim of pleasure and pain because Gellert is not exactly gentle and maybe Albus likes that about him more than he should. “Tell me,” Gellert grunts between forceful snaps of his hips that send the scandalous sounds of skin slapping skin running out into the night. “Tell me that you are mine alone.” He says, teeth grit as he works, fingers curled into Albus’ thighs harsh enough to draw blood._

_Albus gasps and his eyes roll and he nods his head furiously, desperately trying to form the words that Gellert needs to hear. “Yours,” He whimpers brokenly, a handful of scant tears escaping the corners of his eyes and dropping onto the blanket beneath him. Albus knows now that he loves Gellert more than he will ever love anything else in this whole wide world. Gellert has reached inside of his chest and ripped out his still-beating heart and Albus finds comfort in the fact that he is ruined for the rest of the world._

_The words please Gellert and his lips pull back in a feral grin. His fingers loosen their death-like grip on Albus’ delicate flesh and curl around the hardened erection caught between them. Albus spasms in his hand and lets out a guttural moan that makes Gellert’s blood sing with satisfaction. He knows that he alone holds the key to this part of Albus, and it is that knowledge that has him spilling himself so deeply inside of Albus that he hopes a part of him will always remain._

_“I love you,” The words leap out of Albus’ mouth before he can stop them and the subsequent undoing of the boy atop him is enough to send him sprawling into and ecstasy so intense that his vision is momentarily blacked out. He can feel Gellert stilling above him and it curves his lips into a smile. Albus is not foolish enough to believe that he will ever be enough for Gellert, but he is comforted by the opportunity to bring Gellert pleasure, however infinitesimal that may be in the grand scheme of things._

_When Gellert lifts his head and peers down at Albus, Albus feels his breath catch in his throat like it always does beneath the intense weight of Gellert’s attention. He smiles as he reaches up to cup the younger boy’s cheek, which earns him a smile that sends his heart soaring. “Now we honor the Vernal Equinox.” He murmurs against Albus’ parted lips, and it is not the admission of love that Albus had been hoping for, but it is enough._

The memory begins to blacken and fade around its edges, the image of two sky-clad boys beneath a blanket of stars slowly rippling into silvery nothingness. Another image is already forming, this time the sun is bright; so bright that it is blinding.

 

_“Herr Peverell, I command thee!” Gellert is standing with his feet planted apart, one hand wielding a wand whose tip cracks with magic and the other caught in the hand of the companion at his side. The pair is looming over a cracked and ancient grave marker of smooth marble stone, bearing the worn name of a long-dead wizard. “Tell us your secrets!” Gellert screams wildly, tossing his head back to glare demons up at the sky. Clouds begin to form overhead, muting out the sunshine and casting the graveyard in eerie shadows._

_Albus’ wand hand shakes slightly and his eyes are skyward because he is uncertain of his actions. He hadn’t been convinced that an attempt to rob a grave of its secrets would be a successful endeavor, but he could not refuse Gellert a single thing so here they both were. “Concentrate!” Gellert hisses in his ear, and it is a tone so intent that it sends a shiver straight down his spine. Albus nods once, firmly, and reappoints his wand at the grave marker, features twisted with determination. They were teenaged boys playing grown up games, but this was the basis of their entire connection. Long before Albus had fallen in love he had coveted the stimulation of a kinship like no other. They shared fantastical ideas and dreams for shaping the future together, and now more than ever, Albus believed in their combined power._

_The ground beneath their feet began to tremble and shake and Albus’ eyes grew wide while Gellert barked out an imperious laugh beside him. The black clouds above their heads cracked and spit with thunder and lightening and a gale swept through the yard, lifting Gellert’s hair up like a distorted halo..._

 

Albus swiped away the sickening memory with the sheer power of will alone, not quite willing to relive the unscrupulous transgressions of his youth. Desecrating ancient graves was not something that he was proud of, and although the secret of this particular act was not widely known he still carried the disappointment of his actions with him.

 

A fresh memory swirled into focus now, something far more pleasing than grave robbing…

 

_The sun was hanging low in the sky beyond the windows of the bedroom Gellert occupied in his Aunt’s family home, the curtain swaying with a gentle breeze that carried through now and again. The soft sound of idyllic insects buzzing lazily beyond the opening was like summer music playing softly in the background._

_  
Gellert was lying supine, head resting on a bent arm, the other strewn over the naked body that half-covered his own. “We will have the Hallows yet, mein Geliebter.” He said softly, the fingertips of his free hand tracing a pattern over and over on Albus’ spine._

_Albus curled himself around Gellert’s naked form, intent in the afterglow and the cooling semen that held them together like glue. He picked up his head and smiled down at the wild golden devil trapped beneath him, fingertips twirling a lock of hair around and around. “Masters of Death,” Albus whispered against Gellert’s swollen mouth, and when Gellert groaned appreciatively into his kiss, Albus wasn’t sure if it was the idea or the action that caused it._

_Gellert’s fingertips crackled with magic as they repeatedly traced the mark of the Deathly Hallows in the small of Albus’ back, and when that same, teasing magic carved black lines into skin, Albus shut his eyes and reveled in the searing pain._

_“You will bear my mark for all eternity.” Gellert whispered against Albus’ mouth, causing the older boy to shudder with renewed desire. “I’ll always be yours alone,” Albus replied, and his voice was so painfully broken that Gellert felt the desire too._

_Gellert does not move when Albus shifts atop him, nor does he show any outward approval when Albus’ mouth presses reverent kisses against his chest in a line that leads down towards his navel. He raises his free hand to fold it along with the other beneath his head, content in allowing Albus the freedom to take what he wants. His hazel eyes fix on a notch in the ceiling high above and he smiles, thoughts not on the tongue that swirled across his abdomen so much as the idea of wielding the legendary Hallows. When Albus takes him into his mouth Gellert’s eyes shutter and his attention is finally drawn outward and back to the moment at hand. He watches Albus from behind a fan of lowered lashes, marveling in the way his pink lips fit so perfectly over his manhood. Albus’ blue eyes flicked up to meet Gellert’s watchful gaze and he groaned deep in his throat; a sensation that Gellert could not deny was pleasing. Albus felt empowered with Gellert’s eyes on him, greedily taking in his actions. His heart broke into tiny little pieces that carved out his chest as he took Gellert deeply into his throat, again and again. He wasn’t foolish enough to believe that Gellert could ever love him the way that Albus loved him, but there was still a small part of him that liked to think that Gellert would not allow Albus this part of himself if he were not at least little bit in love. He worshiped Gellert’s body like the deity that he saw him as, devouring all that he could and reveling in the brackish taint left behind._

_Gellert could not help but marvel at Albus’ talent, Albus was a quick study and he did not really mind being the learning device. When he could take the static of submission no more he sat up and twisted his fingers in Albus’ tangle of auburn hair, pulling his mouth away from the erection he was greedily trying to consume and holding him up to look at. Gellert’s lips quirked with a smirk as he gazed at Albus, all wild-eyed and swollen lips. He looked just like a desecrated angel, which is precisely what Gellert was trying to mold him into. “Come, take me again, I know it is what you want.” His words were soft and gentle, even though his touch was not. Albus shuddered all over as he climbed into Gellert’s lap and was guided down in one fluid movement. His head tipped back and his chest constricted with a cleansing sigh and when he had taken all of Gellert that there was to take, he finally felt like he was home._

The memory swirled out of focus sooner than Albus would have liked, but before he could lament the loss, a new scene was already unfolding.

 

**1945**

 

_A battlefield._

_That’s the best way to describe the razed out field Albus was currently standing in, wand raised with a fury that had been forced upon him. The sky above boomed with claps of deafening thunder and a light rain had already begun to fall. Albus ignored the wetness and gripped his wand tighter as he took a calculated step forward and waved his wand overhead._

_Gellert stood opposite Albus, wielding a wand that should have made it impossible to defeat. He was older now, they both were, and the lines of living were only just beginning to catch up to them; as if they had both been running for their lives. Gellert smiled as he watched Albus and he was struck with an appreciation for the beauty of the broken monster that he had helped create, once upon a time._

_“Surrender!” Albus shouted as he cast a spell at Gellert, sending an impressive stream of blue light right at him._

_  
Gellert laughed and easily jumped out of the path of the spell, his wand already flicking towards its opponent. “You first, mein Geliebter,” He called back with another laugh, a stream of red jumping from his wand and shooting towards Albus._

_Albus’ face twisted with the despair that he felt in his heart. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it was never supposed to end like this. Gellert was his love and his life and now he was the enemy, where had it all gone so wrong? Albus circled his wand and deflected Gellert’s attack, quickly twisting out of the way of two more that the blond devil fired off right after. “It’s not too late, Gellert.” Albus shouted as he cast again, and he wondered if Gellert would know that he was not aiming to kill._

_Gellert twisted opposite the stream of powerful light and grinned wildly. Albus thought he looked just like that boy he had fallen in love with so many years ago, wild and free. He knew in that moment, clearer than he ever had before, that Gellert was beyond his help now. Albus had avoided this confrontation for so long because he had been afraid. Afraid of the truth and afraid of the love he would always feel when he looked into Gellert’s fiery golden gaze. Gellert was lost to him now, but then again, perhaps Gellert had never been his to begin with._

_“I love you,” Albus whispered as he cast the blow that would bring Gellert to his knees. The streams of white light hit him square in the chest and sent him sprawling onto his back with a sickening thud, the elder wand flying from his grasp. Albus lowered his own wand and dropped to his knees, the tears in his eyes drowned out by the torrents of rainfall drenching him from the heavens above. “I love you,” He whispered again, and he lowered his head to the ground because he could not bear to look up at the man who had stolen his heart as a boy a second longer._

Albus found himself back in his office after that, gasping for breath and clutching his robes so tightly that his fingernails had torn and bled into the fabric. He leaned over and dropped his head into his hands and cried. Cried for his foolish sentimentality and for the love that he was always too blind to see was unrequited. He knew well, the consequences of dwelling in the past; he’d been doing it for decades to no avail. His mind was still on that final duel he had shared with Gellert, and although it broke his heart to do it, a part of him could still appreciate the beauty of the moment. Two of the most formidable wizards the world had ever seen, bound by the bonds of a past they couldn’t escape and locked in a battle of wands to defeat. After Albus had beaten Gellert he took possession of the elder wand and Gellert was locked away in an impenetrable prison of his own making— _Nurmengard_.

 

Unbeknownst to Gellert, Albus had continued his search for the Hallows alone, although not for the reasons that he might have thought. Albus was determined not to allow the mistakes of his past to repeat themselves. Over the span of his life he took possession of all three of the Deathly Hallows and guarded them against the corruption that he himself had felt as a child. Albus implanted the dangerous artifacts of the past into the future, although he never could part with the elder wand. It was the last thing that he and Gellert had ever shared and all that he had left, and with any luck he would take its secrets with him to his grave.

 

The clock struck midnight and Albus wiped at his eyes and heaved a cleansing sigh. He felt drained and weary beyond his advanced years and ready to put the ghosts of his past behind him, at least for another year. When he slipped into bed, _sky-clad_ , he stared up at the ceiling and smiled, the sensory memory of a burn on his lower back where Gellert’s crude mark still sat, soothing him like a comforting touch of a lover.

 

_Until we meet again, Gellert…_


End file.
